Hopes of Spring
by jes004
Summary: Season 1 - Irina makes a startling discovery and contacts Jack. They meet at a pub in England.


Title: Hopes of Spring

Rating: PG - for some minor language

Disclaimer: The character belong to JJ Abrams, et al.  I just borrowed them.

June Challenge Fic

Challenge requirements:

One parter, broken glass, magic marker, the line 'Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.'

Summary: The story takes place early in Season 1, before 'Page 47'. Irina contacts Jack and sets up at meeting a pub in England.

Courtesies:  Special thanks to Bbunny (Patty) for being a last minute beta and sounding board. Any errors are my own. 

Thanks for reading.  Reviews are always welcome.

The darkness of the smoke filled pub was lightened by the sound of happy chatter and the noisy laughter shared by a trio of Americans battling the locals in a game of darts.  Located on one of the canals that populate Britain, the Shroppie Fly enjoyed business from the locals and tourist alike.  The pub was busy with their usual weekend crowd.  A pianist, plying his trade in exchange for free beer, held court at the far end of the room.

Jack rested his arms unobtrusively against the bar, enjoying an occasional swig of the local ale. His eyes scanned the room, as he awaited his cue. The group of young Americans wandered back to a corner booth, their easy laughter undimmed by their humiliating loss to the Brits. A waitress placed a round of beers on their table before moving on to the next.

"Anything else, mate?" The bartender nodded to his empty glass.  Jack motioned for another pint.

Continuing to peruse the crowd, Jack saw nothing to distinguish this pub from thousands of others dotting the British countryside. The bar was the focal point of the room, with a cluster of tables and booths on one side and smaller tables and chairs on the other.  A crowd had gathered by the singer, someone local, Jack surmised. 

As the hour lengthened, Jack's patience wore thin.  Angrily, he signaled to close out his tab. As he waited on the bartender, the pianist rapped on the microphone, motioning for attention .  "Here mates, I've got a request.  This is an old one from _Dr. Zhivago_, one of my favorite movies."  His fingers trilled the opening chords.  "This one's dedicated to Jack."

Jack froze as the man began the haunting notes of _Lara's Theme_ filled the room.

He felt the bile rise to his throat.  The room blurred. The laughter from the three Americans scraped against his ears.  He tried to shift his focus from the singer to the waitress wiping away the daily special from the menu board.  The magic marker squeaked as she wrote down the new menu, but it wasn't enough to drown out the man singing.

He needed air. 

"You okay, mate?"  Jack looked up at the bartender's concerned voice, but the face he saw belonged to the past.  He felt dizzy and grabbed for the bar to steady himself. His stomach lurched; a cold sweat beaded his forehead.  "Loo's in the back," the bartender added helpfully. 

Jack nodded and lurched from the bar.  Vaguely, he heard the crash of breaking glass as he pushed his way through the crowded room.  Blindly, he found his way out of the pub into the cool night air.  He breathed in deeply, forcing his body to relax. 

"Jack?"

"God dmn you to hell."

"Is that all you have to say after twenty years, sweetheart?"

"How did you know?  How the fck did you know?"

Irina looked at him in confusion.  "Know what?"

"Don't screw around with me, Irina. Dedicating that song to me.  Nice touch."

"I don't know what you're ..." 

"Save it." He cut her off, shortly.  "I want to get this over with quickly.  Why don't you just cut to the chase and I can get on with my life."

"We can't discuss this here, Jack.  My car is parked over there."  She pointed to a sleek convertible parked near the river. "We can discuss this more fully there."

"I'm not getting in a car with you."

"Suit yourself. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"My car is over there."  Jack moved to the sink and washed up.  "I drive." 

"Agreed."

The door to the bar opened, revealing the large form of the bartender.  "You owe me twenty quid, mate.  That includes the pint you knocked over on your way out." 

Irina looped her arm through Jack's and smiled brightly at the glaring bartender.  "I'm so sorry.  My husband isn't feeling well." She reached into the breast pocket of Jack's coat and pulled out his wallet, her fingers lightly grazing his chest. She handed the man three bills. "There's a little extra there for your trouble."

The moonlight traced silver patterns through the dark windows of the Daimler, providing the only light along the deserted roadside.  Irina rolled her window down, drawing in the cool evening air. An owl hooted in the distance, an eerie reminder of their isolated surroundings.

"We've been sitting here for ten minutes, Jack. You will have to talk to me sometime."

"Why did you contact me, Lau…Irina?"  His throat burned as he said her real name.

"Not exactly the question I thought you were dying to ask after twenty years, but I did promise answers to your questions."

"How chivalrous of you. After ten years of lies, why would I believe anything you have to say?"

"Because you are here."

"Interesting argument, to be sure, but perhaps it's just my innate curiosity to see what new lies you have for me."

Irina fiddled with the large tote she had retrieved from her car.  "I found this two weeks ago."

Jack stared at the envelope she slipped into his hands.  "What is it?"

"It's an ancient manuscript, part of a larger book."

Jack pulled the parchment from the envelope.  "It's blank. Is this some kind of joke?" 

Silently, Irina handed him a small vial.  "This liquid will activate the page for twenty four hours."

He pulled the stopper out, using the small brush to reveal the writing on the page.  "My god. Sydney."

"Yes."

"What does it say?"

"According to the text, it says: 'This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works.  Bind them with fury, a burning anger, unless prevented, at vulgar costs, this woman will render the greatest power, unto utter desolation.' I'm sure you can understand my concern."

"And the rest?"

"The book?  Mostly scientific experiments and inventions. We have several teams working on them."

Jack looked up sharply. "We?"

"A small coalition of people interested in the works of Milo Rambaldi." 

"What kind of fool do you take me for, Irina?"

"I know you won't believe me, Jack, but that is the primary focus of my … associates.  As was mine."

"And now it isn't?  Convenient."

"She's my daughter, too." Irina breathed deeply, barely holding on to the fury welling inside. "Believe what you must about us, Jack, but I love Sydney as much as you do."

"A daughter you abandoned?"  His words were mocking and Irina felt her control slipping away.

"I could have taken her with me, Jack." 

"Why didn't you?  Things would have been …easier, if you had." The words were dry, almost lifeless.

"Easier, Jack?" Her eyes widened in disbelief as his meaning sank in.  She raked a hand through her hair, staring blindly out the window. "You couldn't have done it, Jack. You are stronger than that."

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought. There are a thousand ways to die…"  Abruptly, he thrust the manuscript at her.  "I didn't come here to discuss me.  Let's cut to the chase. You want something from me. Why don't you just tell me what you have in mind so we can both be on our way?"

"Jack…"

"Don't." He cut her off sharply. "I don't need anything from you.  I just want this meeting to be over."

She nodded, her heart ached as she watched the stone-faced façade slip into place.  Another time, another place and she would have kissed the mask away.  "The only way I know to protect Sydney is to destroy Rambaldi's work. All of it."

"You need me to destroy Arvin Sloane's collection."

"No.  I need you to help me destroy the CIA's collection."

"Your intelligence network is a little behind on their homework. I no longer work for the United States government."

"Of course you don't." Irina rolled her eyes. "In three weeks, word will go out that a book containing Rambaldi manuscripts has been recovered.  Sloane will steal it and Sydney will make a copy for the CIA."

"You cannot give them this page."

"We have no choice. There are too many references to the page throughout the book.  Also, my…associates…have seen it.  Sydney's life is already in danger."  She grasped Jack's hand and felt a glimmer of hope when his fingers closed around hers.  "There is another prophecy, Jack.  'This woman will have had her effect never having seen the beauty of Mt. Sebacio.' If we can get her to that mountain, the prophecy will be nullified."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "How do I know this isn't some power play to put Rambaldi's master plan into motion?"

"Because there is another page." She pulled a second envelope from her tote.  "I'm giving this to you for safe keeping, Jack." 

He fingered the paper and weighed his options.  The idea of trusting the woman sitting next to him was not one he wanted to consider.  "My fifth century Italian is a little rusty."

"She will only see the beauty on the first day of spring."

"All this text and that's all he has to say?" Jack's lips curled in disbelief.

"You won't appreciate the rest of what he has to say."  

"Try me."

Irina stared out the window, watching the breeze dance against the trees.  "Jack…what did you mean when you said there were a thousand ways to dies?"

"A diversion,  …Irina? You should know I am not so easily distracted."

"You weren't talking about suicide, were you?"

"What else does the page say, Irina?" Jack focused on his hands gripping the steering wheel, shutting out the images of a past he preferred to forget.  "I'm not in the mood for games."

"Nor am I.  Our daughter's life is at stake."

"I am aware of that.  I fail to see how the events of almost 20 years ago has a bearing on her future."

"Call it gut instinct or women's intuition."  She studied his profile, searching for a crack in his steely demeanor.  "I will tell you what the manuscript says, if you promise to tell me what happened to you after I left."

"There's nothing to tell.  Jack Bristow died one hundred forty seven days after the woman he thought was his wife plunged her car into a river one rainy November evening."  He turned to face her then, his eyes boring into hers.  "Here's a quote for you. 'Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.' The past is best left where it belongs.  Dead and buried."

"You can't bury the past. It will always be there, haunting you until you deal with it." Irina locked her gaze with his, her own eyes unwavering. "Tell me the rest, Jack." 

"Tell me about the contents of this page," he countered.

"Two lovers, cruelly parted, unite.  A common quest, leading to a greater truth, shall join their souls once more, binding them for eternity."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Surely you don't want me to explain the obvious?" The hope that had flared when she had translated the page diminished in the anger emanating from the man sitting next to her.  "Now tell me what happened while you were in CIA custody."

"I don't know why you keep asking. You know exactly what happened. Dedicating that song to me in the pub.  Nice opening move."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Jack.  I made no request."

He ignored her, as he allowed the anger to wash over him. "My own personal theme song.  Night and day they piped that song into my cell. At night, before the whiskey does its job, I can still hear the music. I know all the words.  Every frigging one of them.  _Somewhere, my love, there will be songs to sing Although the snow covers the hopes of Spring Somewhere a hill blossoms in green and gold And there are dreams, all that your heart can hold Someday we'll meet again, my love Someday whenever the Spring breaks through._"  He stopped abruptly.  "You gave the bartender too much money.  He'll remember us."

"He'll remember a rich American couple who had a little too much to drink.  Don't try to change the subject, Jack."

"Not satisfied with half my soul, Irina?" he taunted.  "You have to have it all? Fine.  Here's your truth.  I sold our daughter to the devil to gain my freedom.  Are you happy now?" He slammed out of the car.

Irina sat back, astounded by his revelation.  Her mind quickly processed his confession.  Reading between the lines, she knew he was talking about placing Sydney in Project Christmas.  She stared at the man who stood by the roadside and knew he still hadn't revealed everything. She moved from the car to his side, placing her hand in his.  He felt cold.

"What were they going to do to Sydney if you didn't cooperate?"

He looked at her, stunned that she had understood what he had not said.  "They told me they had a judge ready to terminate my parental rights.  She would be placed with a foster family and I would never see her again."

"So you had no choice?"

"Of course I had a choice.  I could have let my daughter go, let her have a chance at a normal life.  But I was selfish.  I wanted her with me.  She was a part of me; a part of Jack and Laura.  The best part and I corrupted it."

She squeezed his hand. "I would have done the same."

He pulled his hand away. "Save the empathy for someone who cares." He looked at her then, eyes cold and hard.  "I'll do whatever is necessary to save our daughter, but know this; if this is an elaborate double cross, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Irina shivered, whether it was from the sudden breeze that cooled the air or the chill in his voice, she wasn't sure.  "I love her, too, Jack.  Whatever you may think, I'm still her mother."  And your wife, she added silently. 

She thought about the Rambaldi manuscript she'd given Jack. If the prophecy was to be believed, fate would give them another chance. For now, they were united in a quest.  It was a start.


End file.
